Flip of a Coin
by Your Neighbour Totoro
Summary: King Jaehaerys once said, "Madness and greatness are two sides of the same coin. Every time a new Targaryen is born, the gods toss the coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land." But what if that coin lands teetering on its side, and the difference between madness and greatness is suddenly not so clear?
1. Prologue

Yo, though of an idea, decided to type it up, and here it is.

This is only a prologue, unsure if i'm going to continue it so let me know if you enjoy.

Just a warning that this is relatively AU. The overall plot remains the same, with changes respective to changes i've made in characters and subsequent character development

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Flip of a coin

Indigo eyes blinked rapidly as chaos reigned before him. His mouth tasted like iron and his face stung as sweat seeped into the cuts that littered his face.

"Muna!" A young voice called over the ringing of his ears and he stumbled forwards, a hand clutching his head.

Another explosion ripped through the city and his bones shook as he was thrown through the air. The wind left him as he landed roughly on the cobbled stone and he wretched a globule of blood onto the disturbed ground.

"Sweetling, it's time to get up." A kind voice spoke in his ear and he shook his head in protest, "Sweetling-"

"Shut up!" He roared, clenching his fists as he pulled himself to his knees, "Shut up." He echoed, this time his voice weak and tired.

Unsteadily, he found his feet and for a moment he simply stood there, absorbed in the taste, the smell, the pain as a short gasp of laughter escaped his lips.

"I fucking said so." He mumbled as he took a hesitant step forward, his eyes now focused and narrowed, "But nobody listened, did they?"

It had been a few months since he had arrived in Mereen. He had found the largest of the three great Slaver Cities overwhelming at first. From the sly but bright eccentric nobles dressed in their patterned Ghiscari tokars to the stubborn, impoverished peasants and lastly the defeated and broken slaves, the people were disparate but content at face value. He remembered being awed by the towering structures of the Great Pyramid and the Temple of the Graces, the exotic smells and colours of the purple lotus and the brutal form of the Daznak pit.

Everything had changed however when the dragon Queen moved in. Everything the people knew had been turned on its head. Slavery had been abolished. The Great Masters had lost all their power and the smallfolk were now divided. A group calling themselves 'Sons of the Harpy' had risen from the chaos, murdering, raping and pillaging in the name of the old slaving ways, whereas the shavepates shouted the Queen's praise from the rooftops for liberating them.

He had felt the tension rising. Like a festering wound the city's discontent, its divide had only greatened. He did not support slavery. He thought it an archaic practice, but at the very least the city was coherent. It had a flowed smoothly like a mountain river, the only disturbance to the gentle ebb being the occasional large rock or wayward trunk. The dragon Queen had placed a dam in that river. The tide had not just been disturbed, it had been stopped altogether. The wheel had been broken.

Suddenly, a heavy set Tyroshi man with singed pale blue hair in a dirtied green tokar scrambled past him from within the dusty mist. A river of blood trailed behind the man and he idly noticed the Tyroshi was missing the rest of his arm at the elbow. He would probably die soon.

Around him, bodies were splayed in the rubble. Some, he noted seemed almost peaceful in their eternal slumber, their faces serene but covered in dust and ash as if they had been over-zealous in their application of make-up. Others however lay in bloody pools, their remains charred, cut, and bludgeoned. Scorched, torn and broken.

The wails of a woman reached his ears, shaking him out of his stupor.

Searching for the voice he stumbled forwards wincing as a pain pierced his side. He absentmindedly reached to his waist and let out a soft sigh as his fingers touched the pommel of his sword.

"Shut up, aspo." He heard a gruff voice snarl in a mix of broken Valyrian and common tongue.

Tripping over the remains of a crippled statue, he leant onto a nearby wall. The cries of the woman seemed more prominent now. Craning his neck, he peered down the alleyway next to him and felt his head ache as a frown etched across his face.

Plumes of dirt illuminated by thin rays of light spilled down from the rooftops as a bundle of figures wrestled in the rubble.

"Hel-!" a cry began before the sharp sound of palm meeting cheek rang out among the chorus of screams and crumbling building, "help!"

He had heard enough.

Stepping forward shakily he approached the tangled bodies. The woman cried out in pain and fear as the man struck here again and he heard her whimpering for help.

"No one can here you, whore." The figure on top growled, his voice a thick mess of Westerosi and bastard Valyrian.

"I hear everything."

The figure spun round, his cock hanging out of his breeches and his mouth set in a stern sneer, "Who the fu-" He began before a sword lashed out quicker than he could finish his slur. Blood poured from between his lips as a red gouge surfaced across his neck, so deep it nearly showed the bone.

The rapist's hands rose to his throat but he collapsed to the side before they reached their destination, his eyes wide and crazed.

The woman heaved deep breaths, propped on her elbows as she watched her offender struggle to draw his last breath and then still, his legs still straddling her.

His amethyst eyes watched her carefully, noting her bronzed skin and pitch black hair, her high cheekbones and softly pointed chin.

"Th- thank you." She breathed, her voice shaky and pained.

He nodded slowly and stepped forward, unceremoniously kicking the still figure off the woman, "Can you stand?" the woman seemed startled by his voice but inclined her head nonetheless, "Then stand."

He reached out his hand and the woman took it, wincing slightly as he pulled her upright. Her eyes were frantic as they dotted between the bloody figure on the floor and his own form.

"Your name?"

His voice snapped her out of whatever trance she was in and she straightened herself somewhat, "Saera."

"Just Saera?" He asked, an eyebrow raised as he wiped his sword clean on the rapist's cloak.

"Just Saera." She confirmed with a shaky nod.

"That's a High Valyrian name." He commented, turning and stepping back down the alley the same way he'd come from.

"Y-you know of High Valyrian?" He softly accented voice followed behind him as another explosion sounded in the near distance. He felt her hand grasp at the back of his cloak and tilted his head to look her in the eye. He did not reply however and the pair turned the corner, the woman still clutching at his side.

Working their way through a destroyed market, attempting to avoid the bloodied corpses and tumbling rubble, they weaved through the wreckage. Occasionally the woman would gasp and a choked sob would escape her lips as she laid eyes on a particularly gruesome body.

Perhaps someone she once knew, he thought absentmindedly

Turning a corner they came across a quaint plaza, ruined by the chaos of the siege. In the centre, a small battle raged. A small cluster of smallfolk scrabbled to defend themselves against a larger group of Sons of the Harpy. Glints of gold shone in the afternoon sun as the Sons cut their way through the common people, most likely shavepates, who had little to defend themselves with.

He grunted as he gazed upon the scene and grabbed the woman's arm, pulling her to the side, "Stay here." He ordered.

"Wait! You can't." She protested, crumpling onto a broken stone bench.

"I can." He replied simply before marching towards the fight, ignoring the woman's cries.

Drawing his sword he struck upwards at the back of the nearest Harpy, a spray of blood marking his dark red lamellar chest piece. The body crumpled forwards in a cry of pain and the shavepate the Harpy was assaulting watched him with wide eyes.

He moved past the common folk without a word and moved to his next target. He lashed out with his blade and pierced one Harpy in the side, and then slashed outwards in an arch cutting another stood adjacently.

"Behind you, sweetling."

He growled and spun on his heel only to duck as a dagger clipped the dark hairs atop his head. The Harpy barely had time to cry out as his sword struck at the gold mask, slicing it in two along with the flesh underneath.

A grin tugged at his lips as he took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of battle before moving on.

One by one, he worked his way through the Harpies, unrelenting in his assault. His vision blurred as carnage unfolded in his wake. He felt the sting of their daggers as they cut at his skin, the tired in his muscles and rush of adrenaline that coursed through his veins.

Finally, with a grunt of exertion he pulled his sword sluggishly from the chest of the last Harpy, and he let of a tired sigh before a weak chuckle escaped his lips. He felt alive.

Around him, the shavepates left alive were watching him with an expression he was all too familiar with, a mix of fear and awe, disgust and respect. It left a bitter taste in his mouth.

He turned wearily and met eyes with the softly spoken Volantenes woman he had helped before and frowned as she flinched under his gaze.

Running a hand through his dirtied matted locks and smoothing them back over his head, he stumbled forwards, feeling a strange sense of blunt mirth as the crowd parted before him.

He heard their whispers. Where ever he went, they would whisper. Spinning tales of madness, stories of blood.

Everywhere he went, they followed him.

A heavy roar shattered the sky as a shadow whipped across the cityscape.

A dragon.

He watched eyes like that of a child as the large scaled beast stretched its dark wings and the sound of thunder clapped. He found himself in complete awe its enormity.

Its scales were as black as night, its horns blood red and dragon fire a black maroon. He recalled stories of Balerion the black dread, the monolithic dragon that was ridden by King Aegon the Conqueror, said to have lived for 200 years.

As he gazed into the skies, a burning projectile crashed into the plaza and erupted in a fiery blaze, and he scrambled forwards, eyes bleary and unfocused.

He need to get higher.

To his left, the towering structure of the great pyramid loomed over him and he hastily found his way to set of crumbling stairs leading out the lower district, ignoring the screams that echoed behind him.

With heavy breaths he reached a baron platform at the summit of the steps, its turf gravelled and spotted with clouds of green brush. Behind him the foundations of the great pyramid began, but before him lay Mereen, alight and afire in all its glory. Plumes of ominous dark smoke billowed up from the mixed stone buildings and fire rained down from the ship held trebuchets. He heard another great roar and in the distance the made out the reincarnation of Balerion the black dread breathe hell fire on the invading armada before gliding back over the city.

His body shuddered as the ground shook and the crumbling of stone sounded to his side. The lower wall of the great pyramid then bulged before bursting outwards in a dark cloud of rubble and dust. From the gloom, two large reptilian figures emerged.

Overhead, the black dragon soared and he thought he caught a glimpse of white-blonde hair atop its back. The two beasts, still obscured by the veil of soot roared up at the beast and he felt as though they were doing so almost in greeting, like welcoming a long lost friend. The first to surface through the gloom was a graceful looking thing. Its scales were a light cream, almost touching upon white. The textured horns protruding from its skull, spinal crest and wing bones a regal gold. The dragon gave a guttural growl before launching itself from its hind legs into the air after its sibling.

The second dragon watched its brother take flight with an encouraging cry as it prowled forwards into the open air.

He watched as the beast rose upon its haunches, stretching to its full height. Its emerald green scales, laced with hints of copper gold glistened in sun. It flexed its leather jade wings and spewed a torrent of white hot flames laced with veins of green like wildfire and the heat licked against his face even though he was a good 30 feet away.

Despite the budding fear that clutched at his heart, and every instinct telling him to turn and run, lest he be roasted alive, he could not.

The dragon craned its neck and he felt his breath hitch as indigo met burning yellow.

Without thinking, he took a step forwards and the emerald dragon lurched forwards also, propping itself on its clawed wings.

"Fuck me." He breathed as the beast continued prowling towards him, a steady growl emanating from its mouth. He could now feel the dragon's hot breath brush against him, a harsh blend of flesh and ash. Feet rooted to the ground, he could do naught but meet its piercing gaze, "There's a good dragon." He mumbled, his lips barely moving and body rigid.

The snout of the huge reptile was now within arm's reach, its stare so intense he felt as though it were looking straight through him, searching for something hidden, concealed beneath the skin.

"Greet him, sweetling."

He shook his head dismissively and the dragon snorted through its nostrils, blowing his hair back gently.

"Greet him."

Hesitantly, he reached out his hand taking a half step forwards as he did so. After what felt like minutes, his calloused fingers touched the emerald scales of its snout and he was momentarily startled by their softness. While not as comforting as a feathered cot, the scales resembled the texture of a worn leather armchair. Nonetheless, he could feel the strength of the lamellar skin, capable of deflecting arrows and sword blows alike.

"Hello." He spoke, his voice but a whisper as he smoothed his hand over to the side of the dragon's snout. The great beast let out a baritone rumble which he could only equate to some form of greeting and he found himself amused, despite his fear, at the thought of a dragon purring.

"Never did I think," He began breathlessly, stepping to the side with his hand trailing up towards its jaw, "That I would see a living dragon." He let out a short chuckle and shook his head, sliding his hand under the dragon's chin like it were a common pup, "I've read about dragons. A lot, in fact." He continued, feeling the beast's eye watching him intently, "There was Balerion the black dread who your brother seems to take after," The dragon growled and couldn't help the straggled laughter that escaped his lips, "A-and then Meraxes, Vhagar… Meleys the Red Queen and Vermithor the Bronze Fury…"

He felt the dragon tense under his palm as his vision blurred slightly. He leant forwards on the reptile's head and felt it lean into his body.

"So, what's your name, green one?" He asked, only just noticing the pool of blood that had begun to accumulate at his feet, "Kastagon?"

The dragon tilted it's head and growled softly.

"Not that then." He murmured, "I suppose, your Mother probably named you and your Brothers after her family, since they're all gone."

He felt his legs weaken and he slowly slid to the floor, only half acknowledging the dragon's head supporting his decent.

"It wouldn't be Aerys, the mad old cunt." He rambled on, "and… I'm pretty sure you're a male?"

A deep exhale brushed over his head in affirmation.

"So… Rhaegar?" he concluded tentatively and the dragon immediately resumed its guttural purr, "Ah… so it's Rhaegar is it? Well…" He patted the beast's scaled body tiredly; his eyes now closed and weary, "Well met, Rhaegar. I hope we can be friends."

His head lolled to the side as the clutch of unconsciousness began to tighten around him. He felt the dragon nudge him slightly and he laughed, a weak choked laugh in spite of his state.

"Sorry, I forgot." He slurred, "People call me many names, but you can call me Jon."

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Hey! Thanks for reading. This is just a test run really, new to the whole ASOIAF fanfic writing scene.

As a person pretty invested in mental health (having studied it for 6 years), I've always found the idea of the Targaryen madness interesting, so I thought I'd try and incorporate that into this fic as an underlying theme.

This is just a prologue so post a fave, review or follow if you enjoyed, have any criticism or just want to read more.

Cheers


	2. Dany

Howdy, apologies for the late update. Because I am quite busy I might upload a few shorter chapters more frequently.

Thanks to those who followed and faved, and to yami no kyuubi for the review – it's much appreciated.

Enjoy!

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Flip of a Coin

Daenerys sighed as she sunk into the scalding bath water. The Master's siege had been unsuccessful and the city of Mereen was once more under her control, but their victory had not come without loss. Ser Barristan had managed to counter the Yunkai's trebuchet's, leading an amalgamation of Stormcrows and pit fighters atop her silver but many lives had been lost, and she felt a fury bubbling within at the thought of her people's unnecessary suffering. If only the Master's had listened, they hadn't betrayed their word. If only they hadn't woken the dragon.

Then there were the Second Sons. Dany was unsure of what think of the mercenary group. They had defended the Wicked Sister, one of the six, gargantuan trebuchets that took part in the siege under the command of Ben Plum and the Girl General, Malazza. However, in the end they declared for her and Mereen, claiming that their role in the siege had been but a ruse. She would keep a close eye on the Second Sons.

Idly she scrubbed herself with scented soaps and oils fit for a Queen, trying not to think of the politics of war and city council. After a while the water began to cool, and while most may find a colder bath pleasing in the hot Essosi temperatures, her blood was of fire and the warmth comforted her. So, she called out to one of her few true friends and requested she prepare a fresh tokar.

After drying herself with the help of Missandei she then dressed in an elaborate robe of rich purple and gold, adorning necklaces, bracelets and anklets sporting jewels worthy of her station.

"I thought you should know, my Queen, the man has woken." Her golden-eyed friend commented as she braided Dany's silver blond hair.

"Has he caused any trouble?" She inquired, tilting her head slightly to look at the young woman out of the corner of her eye.

"Not trouble, my Queen." Missandei paused and her fingers faulted slightly. If Dany didn't know any better she would have sworn the woman was blushing despite her bronzed skin, "But, some of the servants have heard him… talking."

"Talking?" Dany echoed, "To whom?"

"No one, my Queen."

Dany frowned, unsure what to think of the information. Was he mad? Unstable? She thought it possible, and was suddenly wary about housing this mysterious man in the Great Pyramid and not somewhere more secure.

"But he has not harmed any of the servants or guards?" She then inquired as Missandei finished the last braid and attached a couple of bells to an indigo ribbon tied at the bottom of the braid.

"No, my Queen. He has been very compliant." Dany stood and turned and her friend bowed her head slightly, not quite meeting her gaze, "in fact, some of the female servants seem quite taken with him, despite his… quirks." She revealed, the corner of her lips turning upwards ever so slightly.

Dany returned Missandei's subtle grin and turned to look out over the city of Mereen through the open window of her chambers, "I think I'll pay our guest a visit," she said, turning back to the woman, "inform Tyrion that I'll hold council afterwards."

"Very well," The woman bowed before exiting the solar without a sound.

Dany held herself for a moment, gazing back out over Mereen. From up here she could see the damage the Yunkai siege had done to the city, and once again felt a protective anger fester. She was supposed to be Queen. It was her job to protect these people that she had liberated from their lives under the thumb of those who deemed themselves more important, more worthy than everyone else.

Shaking herself from her musings, Dany swept out of the spacious room noting the two Unsullied guards that filled in either side of her as she walked.

Her brow twitched as her thoughts drifted to their guest and the circumstances in which he had come into her custody. She had been worried when Ser Barristan had informed her that Viserion and Rhaegal had escaped, and even more so when Viserion had appeared before her and Drogon but Rhaegal had not.

According to his Martell host, Quentyn Martell had attempted to 'tame' her two children but had instead been mortally burned, and subsequently allowed the two enclosed dragons to escape captivity. Dany felt a twinge of sadness for the Prince but had quickly quelled it. She had had her suspicions about the boy. She often thought him too presumptuous, and did not dismiss the idea that he had been working with a third party in plot to steal away Viserion and Rhaegal.

By any means, she had been worried, as any Mother would, when Rhaegal was deemed 'missing'. Thus, she was surprised to discover that he had been spotted sleeping soundly at the base of the Great Pyramid in which he was contained, and even more so that a wounded man had been found cuddled up to the dragon.

According to the Unsullied, it had taken a while for Rhaegal to allow her men to remove the mysterious man from her child's clutches. She supposed Rhaegal had eventually realised that his knew friend was severely injured and by relinquishing him he would be could be treated. She would have thought the tale completely fabricated, but she knew that those under her would never lie, especially regarding her children. Then there was the issue of the sword the man had in his possession. It only presented more questions in her mind and but she pushed them aside for the moment.

Composing herself, Dany nodded to the two guards that stood watch outside the room in which the man was held.

"He is awake?" She asked, feeling a strange knot of nervousness take place in her gut.

"I believe so, my Queen." The guard on the right answered and Dany nodded shortly in response.

Approaching the door, the Unsullied to the left reached over and pushed open the door after unlocking the heavy latch. The guard then stepped into the room and stood guard to the side of the entrance

Dany watched the Unsullied idly before dragging her gaze to the back of the man who sat at the side of the bed facing the balcony. Even from this view, she could tell he was a warrior. His fair skin was lightly tanned and his muscled back littered scars of varying sizes. The man's raven locks were pulled back into a low knot and a braided strand hung loose at the side of his face which reminded her somewhat of the Dothraki.

She stepped in after the Unsullied, "Leave us." Dany ordered in High Valyrian, before pausing slightly, "But be prepared outside, I'll call if I need assistance. I've heard he's… unstable."

The guards made no indication they received the order but complied nonetheless, and Dany held her head to the side and waited for the door to click shut before drawing her gaze back to the man.

A pregnant pause enveloped the room and she suddenly found herself uncomfortable. It was strange for her. She did not fear this man. Nor did she feel any attraction to him for she knew nothing of him.

"You're uncomfortable." His baritone voice sounded suddenly, breaking Dany out of her musings.

"I am not uncomfortable. I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the Unburnt, Mother of Dragons, Breaker-"

"-of Chains, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Queen of Mereen, rightful Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men." He finished, his tone neither biting nor condescending, "It's fine if you are." He turned, a coy grin at his lips and Dany was momentary stunned as she gazed into his amethyst orbs, "I am rather unstable."

"You speak High Valyrian?" She asked, attempted to hide the waver the tempted to take over her voice.

"I do." He commented, before looking back out through the balcony.

Dany lingered for a moment, suddenly unsure how to proceed.

"Have you recovered from your injuries?" she asked, composing herself.

The man sighed and nodded before grabbing a plain tunic that placed on the table by the bed and pulling it over his head.

"Why were you with Rhaegal?" Dany pushed further, feeling ire brewing beneath her skin.

"Rhaegal?" He echoed, standing and turning to face her.

Her violet eyes took in his visage and she then understood why some of her female servants were enamoured with the man. His skin fair and a faint scar ran vertically down past his brow, skipping his eye and onto his cheek. A dark stubble grazed his lean jaw and soft chin, trailing down to his neck and Dany was somewhat amused to find a ring looped in his ear, again reminding her of the Dothraki.

"My dragon, the one you were found with." She clarified, knotting her fingers together in front of her.

"Oh" His eyebrows rose slightly in realisation before a grin broke across his lips and a light chuckle escaped them, "I've been calling him Rhaegar."

Dany was surpised that this man had come so close to learning Rhaegal's name though she did not let it show, "How did you know?"

"It felt right," He shrugged, brushing the braided lock behind his ear, "After your brother." The man stated rather than asked and she nodded.

"Who are you?" Dany asked after a short pause, her voice unwavering.

"I've been called many things," He began with small smile, and Dany was struck by the emotion that shimmered in his amethyst orbs, "Some know me as a murderer, others dishonourable. I've been named a saviour, a hero. I was once ousted as a craven, as weak of heart, then by the same man brave and noble. I have even been stripped of my name, known only as an object, a possession." He stopped and took a breath. Dany watched, her eyes soft in understanding, "But as for you, Daenerys. You can just call me Jon."

"Just Jon?" She asked, ignoring the informality of his address.

"For now, just Jon." He nodded and Dany exhaled, releasing a breath she did not realise she was holding.

"You never answered my question." She continued, moving to sit on a wicker chair at the end of the room, gesturing for Jon to join her, "Why were you with Rhaegal, and why are you not dead?"

He laughed as he sat, shaking his head slightly, "I'm afraid I don't the answer to your second question, but your first…" He trail off, looking out through the balcony, "I was caught in the fighting, during the siege. I saw you, riding the black dragon that takes after Balerion the Black Dread." He continued as he met her piercing gaze.

"Drogon." She informed and Jon nodded slightly.

"I don't know why, but I had to get to higher, closer. And then, Rhaegal and cream coloured dragon-"

"Viserion."

"Rhaegal and Viserion," His eyes darted back to hers, his lips upturning into a smirk and Dany found herself shifting in a strange flustered irritation, "Broke out of the great pyramid, Viserion flew off to join you but Rhaegal stayed. I walked up to him, he walked up to me. We met, became friends then I passed out." He concluded simply.

Dany was perturbed by his oversimplified explanation but nodded in acceptance nonetheless.

"What I would look like know." Jon leant forwards, "Is why you're dragons were locked in the Pyramid." His hands interlocked in front him.

She frowned at the question, unsure how to answer. Dany suddenly felt her ire raise as annoyance bubbled beneath her skin, "What, exactly are you asking?" She asked, her eyes narrowed, violet meeting indigo.

"You know what I am asking, Daenerys." He gaze bored into her own with such intensity she felt almost entranced, "Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor."

"A dragon is not a slave." She echoed, her voice choked and thick with emotion. A feeling of shame then washed over her under Jon's gaze as she lowered his head, ringing her hands together, "I know." Dany managed, dragging her eyes up to meet his, "I know now." She clarified, finding her voice stronger now, more composed.

Jon nodded, leaning back into his chair and a silence fell over the two.

Dany watched the man with renewed caution, feeling somewhat perplexed as to how this stranger, this vagabond had managed to sway the conversation so easily. How he had used her given name as if they had been childhood friends, but she had let it pass. She could have him burn at the maw of her dragons and no one would blink an eye. But she did not want him turned to ash. For the first time in a long time, Dany was unsure.

"Can I have my sword back?" The raven haired man asked suddenly and she frowned, raising her chin.

"What do you mean, 'my sword'? That blade does not belong to you." She countered dismissively.

He frowned and Dany saw something flash in his eyes, "It was given to me." He replied simply, his voice eerily even.

"It does not matter how it came into your possession, it does not belong to you."

"Will you wield it?" Jon's hand gripped onto the arm of the chair while the other remained loose on his lap.

"Well, no-" She began before he interrupted.

"So will you just place it on a mantle, looking pretty while it gathers dust? Or will you bless it onto one of your faithful followers, like Ser Barristan? Suppose the old goat has still got some fight left in."

"Ser Barristan is a loyal follower." Dany replied stiffly, turning her cheek.

The man kissed his teeth and crossed his arms while shaking his head. She then watched as various emotions flashed in eyes, his lips moving as though he was considering what words to speak. Eventually he sighed, his eyelids closings gently.

"Aemon Targaryen gave me that sword." He spoke, his voice but a whisper.

Dany blinked, surprise leaking into her features, "Y-you're lying, there are no Targaryens left."

Jon shook his head softly, the braid falling loose from behind his ear, "He is Maester at Castle Black for the Night's Watch. He is incredibly old." He paused and Dany found herself lingering on every word, "He's the third son of King Maekar the first. I suppose he'd be your Grand Uncle, or something like that." Dany felt warmth surge through her chest, her vision shimmering with unshed tears, "I only visited for a short period of time, but he had been receiving reports of your whereabouts." He smiled almost sadly, "He once said 'A Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing.'"

Her brow furrowed and she raised a finger to wipe the moisture from her eyes, "And you say this, Aemon Targaryen, gave you Dark Sister?"

"Aye, he did."

"Does he still live?" She asked after a moment.

Jon shook his head slightly, "I'm not sure… like I said he was old and blind mention when I saw him, and that was some time ago now."

He opened his mouth as if to continue speaking but instead closed it softly, a delicate frown knotting at his brow.

Dany exhaled shakily as she drew her eyes away from him, annoyed at herself for losing her composure in front of this stranger. For so long, she had thought herself alone. The last dragon there was and ever would be. But now there was suddenly another Targaryen, half the world away. But he was old, and likely dead. She felt as though she had come so close to attaining what she had always wanted, a family, but it had slipped through her fingers.

Smoothing her tokar out with the palm of her hands, Dany stood and swiftly stepped to the door and knocked on the dark wood.

"If it's not too much trouble, I'd like to hear more about Maester Aemon." She spoke, her voice calm.

Jon nodded, drawing his amethyst eyes to hers, a small playing at his lips and the Queen of Mereen found herself smiling in turn.

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Elo, thanks for reading!

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